The Last Request
by Draft Distro
Summary: An aging Admiral Archer has a last mission to complete...


It was going to be one of the most difficult journeys Admiral Jonathan Archer had ever made. He steeled his determination, released the latches near his legs, and stepped out.

"Straight and steady, Admiral," Travis Mayweather said, a smile in his voice. Archer looked across the sterile room where Travis stood near Archer's bed. The upright wheelchair Archer used to for mobility was behind him now, and each step toward his bed was a struggle.

"Did it always sound that trite when I said it?" he asked. Another step forward.

"Usually, but I was covering light years with the fastest engine in the fleet; I was willing to put up with it." Travis picked some lint off his blue jumpsuit. "Besides, it wasn't the worst advice."

Archer chuckled, though the jovial sound ended in a grunt of exertion. Archer's left foot came down on the floor, patterned with two-meter-square illuminated panels, which gave the entire room an ethereal glow. The classically trimmed room served to make Archer feel as ancient as he was really, but Starfleet had presented him these quarters so he could stay close to the Academy grounds where he still liked to speak. Archer would challenge himself though, not with the mountain climbing or water sports of his youth, but with simply walking unaided across a room.

Today it may have been too much… "Travis, I could use some help." He felt his left leg preparing to give way, and he was still a good eight feet from the bed. He was going to fall. He reached out for his former helmsman. "Travis…"

"Admiral!" A short, stocky, copper-skinned man rushed into the room, catching Archer as he sank. "No Travis, Admiral, just your friend Songhai." Archer looked toward his savior and personal aid, Commander Songhai Somanandana. When he looked back to where Travis had been standing there was only empty space.

Somanandana had been with Archer for five years now, since Archer turned 141 and officially became the oldest Human on record. Archer allowed the Commander to bear his weight until he could sit on the edge of the bed. Somanandana had already turned down the sheets and helped Archer to lie back. The Commander tucked the sheets under Archer's worn legs, and then patted the bed next to him. From the corner a small fast shape rushed in, and in a leap settled next to Archer: Javert, the Admiral's beagle. Just a year before, there had been a pair in the apartment, Javert and of course Valjean. An unfortunate accident had befallen Valjean, and though Archer had never learned the specifics from Commander Somanandana, he assured Archer that punitive action had been taken against the responsible party.

"Admiral, are you hungry? I can get you dinner," Somanandana said, straightening the red tunic—intricately brocaded with small Starfleet delta shields—which now served as a Starfleet uniform. To Archer they were too informal, barely a step above t-shirts. He missed the old utilitarian jumpsuits of his day. Of course, that was the Earth Starfleet and this was the Federation. Sure, the Earth Starfleet had all but become the Federation fleet, simply expanding membership to other member races. To this day, Earth was the only member world that did not maintain its own defense force or fleet, and ships of the Federation Starfleet were most often staffed with majority Human crews.

"We're so damn prolific," Archer said aloud.

As usual, Commander Somanandana just nodded. "Of course Admiral, but are you hungry?"

Archer nodded. "Have Chef grill a steak; starving."

"I think a nice salad, Admiral. But I'll put some spicy diced chicken in there, OK?"

Archer nodded again. "Sorry Commander," he said, running his hand through the thick white hair that topped his head, "I seem to be a little cloudier than usual today. Some chicken salad would be fine, so long as there's a little sythwine with it." Archer grinned his best smile.

Somanandana smiled back, and rattled for a moment in his native Thai, then, "Admiral, I think you've earned some cloudy days. Maybe that glass of wine too. Give me a few." The Commander left the room.

"Hailing frequencies a little scrambled, Captain?" Archer looked up at the voice. Around the room Starfleet had donated various mementos of Archer's career; among them was his desk from his tenure as Federation President. Behind that desk sat Hoshi Sato. "You never did have the ear for communications. And of course, you have gotten old… How is the oldest Human?"

"He's tired, but you know that 'oldest human' bit may not be true. I lost eight years to that warp malfunction on the _Crippen; _we spent hours decelerating, only to find we'd lost our warp field and were travelling relativistic. I'm not really a day over one hundred thirty-eight."

Hoshi smiled. "And yet, you have seen better days…"

"Haven't we all." Hoshi faded from Archer's view as he remembered the last time he had seen her. She was on her way to a colony being founded on Tarsus IV. The ship transporting her and her husband never made it. Most of the colonists and crew were saved by the heroic actions of the Captain and First Officer, but a Romulan sneak attack destroyed the _Kelvin_ and Hoshi had not escaped. "Romulans…" muttered Archer.

"No Romulans, Admiral, just that chicken you ordered." Somanandana came back in, a tray in hand with Archer's dinner. Dutifully, Javert adjourned to the foot of the bed, but sniffed the air in anticipation of Archer sharing his meal. Archer ate quietly, despite Commander Somanandana's attempts to engage the older man in conversation. Archer was atypically sullen this evening, and though he had truly come to value his aid as a friend, Archer was more interested in chasing the thoughts running through his head.

Earlier today, Archer had been with his attending physician, Mark Piper. Doctor Piper was never one to beat around the bush, and had told Archer exactly his condition.

"John, you and I both know it's amazing you've lasted this long. We could keep pumping new fluids, or cloning new organs, but the fact is you're degenerating faster than we can maintain you. Months, Jonathan; you've got months at most."

Jonathan Archer did not fear death; he'd faced the cloaked bastard enough to be familiar with the very smell of him. Facing mortality after a century and a half though was still sobering, if somehow…appropriate. Archer was at peace, but the ghosts had been coming all day. He'd outlived so many and done so much, and yet his mind kept coming back to those years, those oh-so-short years, when he was Master and Commander of the NX-01. His eyes fell upon her commissioning plaque on the wall in his apartment, in its own arched alcove. "I'm tired," he said.

"Are you ready for bed, Admiral?" Commander Somanandana knew the results of Archer's exam today as well. The Commander had done his best to keep a smile on his face, but the fact was he all but loved the old man, and would be very sorry to see this particular legend slip into history. "Rest if you can, Admiral. Like I said, you've earned it."

Archer's sleep was fitful. Unburdened by wakefulness, the ghosts Archer carried with him by day were free to have their say. Doctor Phlox appeared, speaking at length about new treatments. Shran of Andoria sneered, "Had enough, Pinkskin? I thought you were stronger." Erica Hernandez had her say: "Haven't you sacrificed enough? Now you're putting your own interests ahead of your life?"

It was 0100 hours San Francisco time when the ghosts finally chased Archer from sleep. He started to sit up, but thought better of it, staring up at the ornate ceiling instead. "Lights, quarter illumination," he said. The floor again glowed tracing odd shadows in the molded oval that spanned the top of the room. He felt the bed shift as Javert lifted his head, looking at his master, then shift again as Javert turned and let go a low growl. Archer turned his head to follow his dog's gaze.

Another of Archer's ghosts had apparently followed him into the waking world. In front of the holo-plaque Archer had received from the Andorian Government following his tenure as ambassador stood a man in a dark, chorded bodysuit. He had dark hair, and when he turned Archer saw it was thinning.

"I thought you weren't coming back, even as an old man's hallucination." Archer watched as the man he knew only as Daniels stepped forward. Javert growled again.

Why was Javert growling at Archer's apparitions?

"Hello Jonathan. I am sorry to hear you are ill."

"Lights, full!" Despite the effort involved, Archer pulled himself up onto his elbows. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Daniels held up a placating hand. "Please, don't strain yourself. I just need to talk to you."

Archer swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He might not be able to stand, but he'd be damned if he was going to just lie there while Daniels said anything. Javert continued to growl menacingly until Archer rested his hand on the raised fur along the dog's spine.

"You told me it was done, all of it. The Temporal Cold War was over."

Daniels nodded. "It was; it is. May I sit, Jonathan? Then perhaps I can explain." He pulled a chair from the small dining set that had fallen into disuse in recent months. "Jonathan, why did World War III happen on Earth?"

Archer scowled a puzzled look for a moment. "What? Why are we talking old Earth history?"

"Indulge me, please; it's the easiest way for me to explain what's happened."

Archer thought back to his history. "Economic disparities in the European States in the 2020s, following the Depression."

Daniels nodded. "What brought on the Depression?"

"The Western Powers' reaction to ideologically based terrorist attacks by extremists. The wealthiest power at the time squandered vast resources prosecuting a series of wars they couldn't hope to win in a traditional sense. At the same time some individuals tried to profit unfairly from the uncertainty the wars brought. It pushed the world's economy of the edge. When both austerity and spending failed, there was only war left." Archer hoped his old history professor would appreciate his recollection.

"Exactly," Daniels said. "Yet, at the end of the 20th Century—just a few years earlier—there was hope. The great powers were cooperating, and assisting each other in peacekeeping efforts. It was to be a new era of peace.

"But a non-State Actor did the unthinkable. With no superpower or government backing, a single small group engineered events that would eventually come close to knocking Human culture back into its own stone age." Daniels leaned forward.

"That is what has happened, Jonathan. The future you and I protected a century ago: you are no longer in that chain of events. This causality chain was created by a single actor, one man out of his time who destroyed one ship, and a whole new set of circumstances has become manifest."

Archer interrupted. "According to temporal theory that happens all the time, and causality collapses into a line when any decision is made by an observer." Archer hoped equally his old quantum mechanics professor would appreciate his recollection as well.

Daniels nodded. "To a degree. Most people take Schrödinger's Cat to mean there are new timelines created every second by every observer, but that's not what it means. Indeed the entire thought experiment was actually described to debunk that concept. However, time is a far more complex miasma of happenings than just a single set of events.

"Many of these smaller chains are inconsequential and simply…absorb back into the original. Had you chosen not to have chicken for dinner this evening, either choice still remains within the same timeline due to consequence. Each choice is somewhat allowed for in that universe. When someone asks you in a month what you had for dinner, you probably don't remember. It's inconsequential in its aftermath."

Archer's brow furrowed. "You're being vague. I hate vague."

Daniels' expression was regretful. "We're speaking 23rd Century Federation English; this is as precise as it gets. Now please listen Jonathan, I promise it will soon become clear. Your current timeline began to diverge drastically from its progenitor—the timeline you protected aboard _Enterprise_—twenty-five years ago. Both parties who had been engaged in the Cold War underestimated the effects the destruction of one ship could have, and superficially the universe is very similar to those of us observing from…elsewhere. Those differences are about to become even more distinct however, and there are some things we need you to do."

Archer, his back too tired to maintain his position, did finally lean back into bed, resting against the large padded headboard behind him. "Why couldn't you simply go back to the event that split it off in the first place, keep it from happening?"

"As I said, we noticed it too late. By the time our observers realized what was happening this universe was quite entrenched and had become…important." Daniels saw Archer was about to protest, and continued. "I know Jonathan, all universes are important, but this was a matter of observer effect; enough quantum observance had happened to secure this timeline within the larger structure of existence. The changes themselves were also complex; events in the origin universe nearly 130 years _from_ now resulted in the events of 2233. To alter both would have untold consequences, particularly since a third temporal incursion is about to manifest."

"Don't trust him, Captain. He was an infiltrator, and never truly forthcoming." Archer turned at the new voice. Malcolm Reed stood at the foot of Archer's bed, imploring Archer to listen. "Fight him, Sir. Send him away. Don't fall for his manipulation."

"Malcolm, I'm not sure… It seems so plausible." Archer noticed Daniels looking with concern at the place where Archer had glanced, and of course when Archer turned back, Reed was gone. Archer forced his mind back onto the problem at hand. "The incursion was in 2233, one ship was destroyed…" Realization came to the Admiral. Archer's perceptions may occasionally betray him, but his cognitive skills were still his own. "The _Kelvin_. The Romulan attack that destroyed the _Kelvin_ was more than that, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Jonathan."

Archer's mind was racing now, making the kind of strategic connections he had not been called upon to make in decades. "That event changed Starfleet. We've been expecting a fleet of Romulan dreadnaughts to come across the Neutral Zone for over twenty years now. We stole ideas from the _Kelvin's _telemetry and completely changed the _Constitution_ Class project. The state of Starfleet is based on that event. You're telling me that ship was from the future…the Romulans never crossed the Neutral Zone; they don't have any more of those monsters, do they?"

"An event that should never have happened, but one non-State actor did the unthinkable," Daniels said.

"Is it better?" Archer asked.

"What?"

"Is this new timeline better than the origin timeline?"

Daniels paused for a moment. "That's very subjective, but in some ways I suppose it is. Technology has been improved by the future incursion. You yourself have lived longer. Their Starfleet though: they are explorers like you were in the beginning on the NX-01, expanding the Federation in ways your timeline hasn't dreamed of. But Jonathan, there will still be ramifications. I cannot tell you why, I cannot tell you what will occur, but I need you to do something."

Archer swallowed. A chance to make a difference? At this stage of his life? His expression was one of determination. "What can I do?"

"You need to speak with T'Pol."

Archer actually laughed. "Oh, I thought you'd want something challenging! I haven't seen T'Pol in… it must be 70 years! We didn't part under the best of terms. Why would she want to see me now?"

Daniels was very quiet as he spoke. "Because you're dying, Jonathan. She needs to come here before you die. You need to speak with her, in this room, while you still can."

Archer allowed a moment to pass. "That's it. Talk to T'Pol?" Daniels nodded. "I can't order her to Earth, she left any service after Trip…" Archer still choked on that name. Off-handedly Archer wondered why that ghost hadn't come to have his say.

"Admiral. Jonathan. Don't order her. Ask her."

Archer looked at his hands folded in his lap. They were spotted, frail. The creases once so normal looked like cracking leather and even the small hairs on his knuckles and backs of his hands had greyed. He felt at once so old, as if all the years of his life had happened at once, just now. When he did raise his head again, Daniels was gone. Javert, sensing his master's mood, moved in closer and whined a little in commiseration. Archer stroked the dog with his leathery old hand.

"She blames me," he said to the beagle, eight generations removed from Porthos who had plied the space ways with Archer when T'Pol served with him…and Trip. Yet those canine eyes could have been the same ones that stared at him with adoration the night the Paragan Colony was destroyed, or the night Archer received word Admiral Forrest had been killed in an explosion…

…Or the night Charles Tucker III had died. Archer, for the first time in years, wept.

When he was done, he spoke aloud. "Computer, transcribe personal communication: sender, me; recipient, T'Pol of Vulcan."

"Working," came the response, in a voice so human as to be mistaken for one. Archer wondered how much of the technology around him was out of place, but continued.

"T'Pol; it's been a long road…"

Three weeks had passed with no response. Archer had dictated into that letter for nearly an hour and sent it on its way, and he had to admit just sending it had made him feel better. The ghosts had stopped visiting, and he had actually added one lecture a week to his schedule. Even Commander Somanandana was pleased with Archer's upswing. "Admiral, I think you're going to out last your friend Songhai at this rate," he said, preparing a steak for Archer, because what could just one hurt? Archer even eschewed the bed tray and sat at his dinner table in his apartment to eat it. Javert quickly remembered his place beneath the table where he would best be poised for "accidentally" dropped bites.

Archer was almost done when a voice interrupted. "For one supposedly at death's door, you are looking well and eating irresponsibly."

Archer turned to see Commander Somanandana and a small figure in a brown cloak. For a moment some part of Archer's mind wondered if it was Death, but the voice had betrayed the identity. "Sub-Commander," he said, and managed to make it to his feet, though he still leaned against the table.

T'Pol pushed back her hood, revealing long hair as white has Archer's own, and skin laid like tissue against the sharp bones of her face. Her hair broke around her ears, still proud and upswept. She was expressionless, and yet there was something behind her eyes. "I do not hold rank in any fleet or service. I am simply T'Pol now, Jonathan."

"And you are here. I was beginning to think you weren't coming," he said, motioning to the chair opposite him. After a second of deliberation, T'Pol moved to the chair. Once she had sat, he joined her.

"I'll bring water and refreshments," Commander Somanandana said leaving the room. He had obviously dealt with Vulcans before.

"Your message took some time. The courier service had to find me as I do not have a communications terminal in my home."

Archer smiled, same old T'Pol. "Where are you living these days?" Somanandana returned with a tray with two glasses of water and one coffee if Archer was interested. He then excused himself.

T'Pol sipped her water. "I am at the edge of The Forge. I do not receive many visitors. It is quiet."

"How have you been?"

"Alone," she replied. Archer wondered if there was deeper meaning behind her word.

"It is good to see you again T'Pol. I know we haven't been corresponding much…" Archer did not finish his sentence before the Vulcan woman began speaking.

"I spent a very long time blaming you for Commander Tucker's death. In my meditation I have determined that it was illogical to do so. I found it difficult however to contact you after so much time; also illogical, but the burden of emotional weight. Your reaching out to me is both fortuitous and a relief." T'Pol said all of this in an even tone, her expression changing not a millimeter. Archer almost laughed out loud; leave it to a Vulcan to expose and expunge 70 years of grief in four sentences. Though he did not laugh, he did smile broadly, but with a hint of sadness.

"He was the best man I ever knew, and I miss him every day," he said. T'Pol nodded.

"As do I."

They spoke for a long time then. They reminisced about their time on _Enterprise_, shared stories about Trip, and discussed how they had watched friends they had in common slowly disappear one by one.

"I'm next, you know," he said. She helped him—despite her diminutive size, Vulcan strength still dwelled within her—to his bed when he became tired. "They give me only a few more weeks. I am gratified you came." Archer had all but forgotten why he had called her in the flood of warmth this quiet, stoic woman had brought to his home. Forgotten until Commander Somanandana came in, and his face was pale despite his heritage.

"Admiral, Lady T'Pol…" He struggled to continue. "Vulcan. The planet Vulcan…it's gone." Archer looked at the Commander without fully comprehending what he had heard.

"Computer, on screen, Starfleet classified information channel." One previously solid wall revealed itself as a holo-projector showing a dozen comms officers from various stations passing long-range sensor data. They told of a small flotilla of ships that had left Earth, and with a single exception had been destroyed. The Romulan Dreadnaught was back. "The incursion," he murmured.

Archer told T'Pol everything Daniels had told him. As he did, as this monstrous news settled over her, she seemed to shrink. For a moment she sat in silence. Then, feebly she said, "The Vulcan Science Directorate has determined time travel to be impossible."

Archer looked at her with pity and remorse. 'T'Pol," he began. Then the room began to shake. "Computer, outside view." The amorphous wall brightened to show the transparent aluminum of which it was made, and a view of the Golden Gate Bridge over the San Francisco Bay. Something was very wrong though as a shaft of effervescent energy was vaporizing the water in the bay. The beam seemed to come from orbit. At this Jonathan did stand, and though pain-filled, made his way to the window. Was the destruction of Vulcan the only "ramification" of which Daniels spoke? Was Earth also to be destroyed in this timeline, leaving a Federation without two founding worlds? Would the Federation survive the loss of each?

Then something changed. Some craft Archer could not recognized flashed over the bay, and in but a moment the ray of destruction sputtered and ended, and a structure Archer could only take as the emitter plummeted into the ocean. Switching back to the intelligence feed, he and T'Pol followed the events of the next few moments until finally there was only a Federation starship limping home battered but victorious, and a black hole where a non-State Actor had been. Somehow, within his mind or very consciousness, Archer knew the incursion was done.

He and T'Pol sat quietly for a long time. He could see the weight of a billion dead Vulcans on her shoulders. Reports now came that there may only be some tens of thousands of Vulcans left in the Galaxy.

"I am only here because you asked me to be," T'Pol said. He knew she did not mean this apartment, or even Earth, but still among the living. "My race is scattered and lost." And at once Archer knew why Daniels had come.

"They need someone, T'Pol. They need a leader, an advisor, someone who can show them what it is to live among outsiders when you can't go home."

She looked at him, and for the first time emotion came to her face. So long ago she had been the lone Vulcan among aliens, then an outcast from her very own people. Was there purpose in all of it?

At once, her countenance changed. She stood upright, and the certitude Archer remembered so well from a century ago was again in place. "Admiral, if you will excuse me. I am going to the Vulcan embassy. Please contact me there if you need me. I do not know however how long I may still be on Earth." She paused, "I have work."

Archer sadly nodded, then lifted his hand, his fingers split in a fashion he had had to practice in his quarters for hours with no audience but Porthos. "Live long and prosper, Lady T'Pol."

She returned the salute. "Peace and long life, Jonathan Archer," she said, and both perhaps shuddered within at the irony. Then she was gone.

That night, Archer again could not find restful sleep. And again he awoke to find a visitor in the dark.

"You could just come through the door, you know." Archer looked crossly at Daniels. "You could also have warned me. Something, anything to save just a few more lives."

"No Jonathan, I could not. Please understand it causes me pain as well, but we are not arbiters of history, only Guardians. With your help today, T'Pol will prove a decisive influence on her people, and they will not be wiped from history," said Daniels. Archer was not so easily swayed.

"A billion people, Daniels. A _billion._ You're a Guardian? Of what? Your future? The Federation? What can you possibly be guarding that's worth a billion lives?"

Daniels answered, and for a moment his voice was more than that of an average looking human. It was at once ancient and timeless, and in some way it managed to both frighten and enthrall Archer. "I am the Guardian of Forever. Before your sun burned hot in space, _I am__.__"_

Archer stared at him for a moment, as he imagined an ant must stare at a human city. Finally, he broke the silence. "So what now?"

Daniels answered, and this time it was the voice Archer had known since the man cooked him breakfast the first time. "You must do one more thing; then all will be as it should."

Captain—no—_Admiral_ Christopher Pike was annoyed: He was annoyed at the wheelchair to which he now was bound; he was annoyed at the fact he was currently unable to command a Starship; he was annoyed at this council of Flag Officers. Together, they were discussing the fate of one unruly Starfleet Officer who went from cheating cadet to saving the Earth in a matter of hours.

"Put him back in the academy. A few lucky breaks don't make an officer!" This from Commodore Stocker. So far as Pike knew, Stocker hadn't logged a single star-hour.

"Commodore, I think Kirk has shown bravery and talent; obviously Admiral Pike saw something there or he wouldn't have made a stow-away his first officer," said Admiral Chandra. Pike wasn't sure if that was as much a praise of Kirk as it was a swing at Pike.

"Gentlemen," said Admiral Barnett, a steady presence in any setting and currently the chair of Starfleet Academy, "Starfleet is better served with Lieutenant Kirk on a ship. He will develop into one of our best, I have no doubt, his father and mother notwithstanding. The question is where do we send him to develop?"

No one expected the voice that spoke next. "_Captain _Kirk belongs in command of the _Enterprise_. It's his first, best destiny. And I know something about captaining the _Enterprise_." Pike turned to see Admiral Jonathan Archer. Though in an upright wheelchair himself (something I may need to look into, thought Pike) his presence was strong, and Pike wondered if the rumors of his illness were exaggerated. Archer's aid Somanandana looked on like a mother hen though.

"Admiral Archer, this is a closed session…" began Stocker. Archer was having none of it.

"Sit down, Doug. I am still on the Academy's board, I still hold rank in Starfleet, and goddamn it, I have something to say." Archer rolled to the center of the room.

"Vulcan is gone. The Federation will have enemies salivating at the borders thinking that we have been weakened by her loss. The fact is, we have.

"The other fact, as I am sure you have all become aware of following the reports of the _Enterprise's_ senior staff, is none of this was supposed to happen. James T. Kirk faced down a threat from out of time, saved this planet in the process, and was willing to accept and use his instincts despite what 25 years of incorrect assumptions on the part of the Starfleet Admiralty told us about the Romulan Dreadnaught. We've spent a quarter century building guns waiting for a fleet of monsters to come through the Neutral Zone, and 'Cadet' Kirk faced that monster, bearded it, and left us in a position to set things as right as we can.

"I was dealing with future aliens screwing with our history before any of you were even born. I was going where no man had gone before when we didn't know if the Vulcans could be trusted, much less mourned. Listen to my experience. We are more than a navy; we fight when we must, but we are explorers seeking answers to questions and then seeking more questions to answer. Humanity deserves more than we have given it the last quarter century; I am telling you how it should be. Consider this a last request: James T. Kirk belongs in command of the _USS Enterprise._" Silence covered the room, finally broken by Christopher Pike.

"Seconded. If I'm going to be in a wheelchair and not a center seat, it should damn well be Jim Kirk."

Some minor protest was still raised about Kirk's academy record, and his relative youth, but Archer and Pike had turned the tide. At the end of the day, Starfleet's Chiefs of Staff voted that when the _Enterprise_ was repaired and sent into service, Captain James Kirk would be her master.

The executive shuttle left San Francisco, checked in with spacedock, and was now en route to the LaGrange point where the newly christened Starship _Enterprise_ waited. Archer sat in the back as Commander Somanandana gently guided the vessel.

"Remember the last time we took a shuttle to see an _Enterprise_, Cap'n?" said Tucker. Archer looked across the cabin where Trip Tucker sat. He was in his uniform from a century before, and somehow Archer could smell the hint of oil that seemed to follow the engineer wherever he went. There was a pint of beer in front of him.

"You dinged the paint as I recall." Both of them laughed. "I've missed you Trip," Archer said.

"I know John. But you did some good work here recently."

"I could have done better with you still around…"

Tucker scoffed. "Cap'n, everyone has their time. It's not about what should be, or how fair it is, it's just the way things are. We do the best we can, and hope we wake up in the morning. When we don't, we hope there's something better on the other side and those we leave behind can get by."

"She misses you too, Trip," Archer said. For a figment of his imagination, Archer noted that Trip seemed almost at a loss for words. Then finally:

"And I her."

The silence that followed was broken by Somanandana's voice over the comm. "Admiral, we are in position, look portside." Archer scooted Javert out of the way just to have the beagle turn and replace his head on the Admiral's thigh with a loud sigh. From the viewport Archer saw her: NCC-1701, the Starship _Enterprise. _She dominated the view.

"My God," he said, "that's a big ship."

"I'd love to get my hands on that helm," said Travis.

"You can almost hear her sing from here," said Hoshi.

"So much good she can do," said Phlox.

"Photon torpedoes and gatling phasers…" said Malcolm.

"What a beaut," Trip said. He lifted his beer in a toast as light flared around the _Enterprise's_ nacelles, and the ship leaped into warp. Archer stared at the empty space.

"Where no man has gone before…" He watched the stars for but a moment more before he spoke again. "I wish T'Pol were here. I wish you _all_ were here." He glanced around the empty compartment, patted his dog, and leaned back his head.

At last he could rest.

The End


End file.
